One More Round
by flamebrain
Summary: One take on the possible path of Sara's drinking from "Early Rollout."


Title: One More Round  
  
Author: flamebrain  
  
Disclaimer: CSI & its characters are property of A. Zuiker, CBS, & affiliates. I'm making no money.  
  
Spoilers: "Early Rollout," 2/19/04  
  
Notes: "Early Rollout" got me thinking...so this is a slightly darker turn than the one I hope they take on the show. To Linda, for getting me hooked. And to Heather, for the wonderful beta and the title suggestion.  
  
She gets home after shift and reaches for the bottle. She lied to Brass tonight – beer has never been her drink of choice. Not for this. This needs the harsh taste of Jack Daniels, causing her to sputter as it slips down her throat. After the first couple of swallows, she no longer recoils as she drinks. Maybe it burns away the taste buds, or maybe she's just getting better at this whole seeking oblivion thing.  
  
She doesn't know when it started. Was it after the explosion sent her reeling, her world alight with fire? Was it when he said to her, "I don't know what to do about this," his hands gesturing between them helplessly? Maybe it was after she failed Lindsey (and Catherine, one mustn't ever forget Catherine) in the case of Eddie's death. Or after the Julie Waters case, or when Grissom dismissed her concerns over being pulled from her own case just to cover another. Perhaps it was due to fighting with Nick and his sudden about-face from friend to by-the-book CSI, licking Grissom's boots.  
  
She doesn't know if it was one of these cases or all of them, or maybe it was none of them. She doesn't know if it even matters. What she does know is that she's getting low on whiskey, and she'll have to run to the store to get more. This is Vegas, baby, and no one will blink when she walks in at ten in the morning, sunglasses planted firmly on her face, and grabs a few bottles. Enough to keep her going for a while, at any rate, she rationalizes. That way she doesn't have to worry about numerous trips.  
  
She's not stupid. Her high IQ and her four-year trip to Harvard will attest to that. But she's tired. Lately it seems that she's fighting at every turn. Catherine hates her – always has and always will, no matter how hard she tries. So she's given up trying. Warrick, well, Warrick and she have never really approached a friendship. Maybe they've formed an uneasy partnership. She didn't give him enough of a chance at the beginning and he will never forget that (neither will Catherine). It's too bad, though. She does admire that long-limbed easiness and that hint of danger in a man. Nick was the closest thing to a friend she had in this godforsaken place. And now they're fighting over this promotion (which everyone wants Nick to get). She can't help being a bitch when it's what everyone expects.  
  
Grissom is different. They have danced with and around each other for over a decade, since she first met him at a seminar he was giving. She knows everyone thinks they met when she was a graduate student. No one has ever guessed that they met when she was a mere seventeen, already finished high school and starting a summer program at Harvard. The administration wanted to lure her to their institution so they had allowed her to start the summer before other incoming freshmen; allowed her to escape a home that while loving, was oppressive to a young mind wanting to take on the world. There was nothing other than friendship between them then, when the young scientist sat up with her all night in the emergency room to distract her from her pain. He left before her year started, but they kept in touch via letters, and when she made the decision five years later to drop her graduate studies, he was the first one she told.  
  
Adulthood made them equals, in one sense. Finally of an age where they could relate personally, but ever the student and mentor, never getting too close. Yet Grissom will not breach his walls for anyone (except maybe for Catherine). There was once a chance that they might have more, but that seems to be gone, leaving her with a hollow feeling in her chest (like the way it hurt when Catherine dismissed her skills and Grissom didn't defend). Her work is all she has left of the life she once wanted, and she wonders if it is enough. She has job offers all the time. San Francisco wants her to return and there have been offers from New York, where she would have a network of friends that surpasses anything she once almost managed to build here.  
  
She loves him, of course. Isn't that the way it always goes? Poor little girl, blind to what's in front of you, that he'll never open up enough to take you (but if she works hard, he might take Catherine). She knows he wants her, and she has tried her best to get him to act, but her eyes are open now. Love isn't the question. Unfortunately, no matter what the stories say, neither is love the answer. They both love, blindly on her part, shuttered eyes and shadowy half-truths on his (and sometimes a slipped "Honey" if she's lucky). She knows he will never trust enough to tell her what he confessed to a suspect, that which she was never supposed to hear.  
  
The promotion will be announced soon, and then she'll know. She'll know if her over-talking and their flirtation have ruined even her chance at career progression in this godforsaken city she came to for him (and Catherine has always resented that freedom). She doesn't know why she waits. She knows what the outcome will be and she will wish Nick well (though he was much better before he became a sycophant). It is not that she needs the feeling of being appreciated; God knows she hasn't had that since she came to Vegas. She doesn't care what her supervisor thinks of her (she cares about Grissom-the-man's opinion) but she does care about her career. What does it say when the man who hand picks her to come to his lab won't give her a promotion despite stunning evaluations? Maybe she should leave now, before it happens. Because if she leaves after she loses the promotion to a man whose solve rate isn't close to her own, people will say it is sour grapes (Catherine will be thrilled). And no one will miss her, except maybe him. Or maybe he will be happy to get rid of the unflagging reminder of "this."  
  
San Francisco would be nice. It would be close to home, she could visit her parents more often. Reconnecting with her hippie parents might return some sense of equilibrium to her life. New York has its own charms. Honest-to-god seasons, with snow on the ground in the winter. Friends she hasn't seen since she moved to Vegas, unless they visit her. She can't take a day off from her efforts to impress Grissom.  
  
Now those attempts are through. Her eyes are open to the reality of the world around her (she'll never be the pretty one). She wonders if she will miss anyone here. Grissom, of course, but he will always be in her heart. Maybe away from him she will rid herself of the constant ache in her heart (hole in her soul). She once would have missed Nick, but no longer. Warrick never laid a claim on her affections (Catherine ought to be happy about that). She will miss Greg's attempts to flirt with her, Archie because he is sweet and reminds her of her friends with his computer tech- head ways (maybe she will introduce them one day), Doc Robbins for his gentle manner, David's blushing and stammering at crime scenes. But only in the smallest recesses of her heart will she miss them – she will catalog the slight wistfulness and file it away in her brain, never to be thought of once she touches down in her new place to live (maybe the next place will be home). She will miss Brass most of all (surprising even to herself), for he is the one who saw something was wrong. He doesn't spend much time with her, yet he was the one to care enough to reach out to her. His attempt to rescue her from herself will stay with her for a long time. She regrets lying to him today. Or was it yesterday? She is no longer sure. She takes a long look at the bottle of JD, now empty. Maybe that's the reason she can't remember. She can't remember a lot these days (that could be a good thing). She shoves the bottle in the direction of her trash can. She will get another later; right now it is too much effort. She stretches out on her couch, hoping that this time she will not suffer from nightmares. Closing her eyes, she wills herself to sleep. She forces Grissom out of her mind's eye, along with the rest of her complications. Tomorrow is soon enough to decide what to do. 


End file.
